


Red Wine and Tequila

by hips_of_steel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet little party at California's LA home. His younger siblings, their dates, and alcohol aplenty. And no one was supposed to bring him a date. He was just fine without one.Oregon, however, appeared to think otherwise. And who did she bring for his date? The worst choice she could make, the man he's been silently wishing would just shut up and kiss him since the second world war.Texas.Or, from Texas's view of events, he really should stop looking at Oregon whenever she's put on the pleading face and begging him to agree to go along with whatever plan the little scoundrel's got going this time. It might save him a lot of pride and dignity.Especially having to be in the same room as California while drinking... when he loses some of his inhibitions and just really wishes that damn Californian would let him kiss him.





	1. Roberto/California

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crikadelic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crikadelic/gifts).



> Sam Seguín (APH Texas) and Charlotte (APH Maine) belong to crikadelic. All other characters belong to me. 
> 
> This project was a writing exercise for me. Write the same scene from two different points of view. In the end, I couldn't chose one over the other, so here they are, presented in the order written. Please enjoy both perspectives.

Roberto doesn't know how much he's drunk anymore, as his small party is winding down around him. He knows that the bottle of red wine in his hand is getting close to empty, but has he shared any of it? Or has he consumed it all himself? Had it been a full bottle or something he'd opened a while back and merely put the cork back in, reopening it earlier tonight?

All he knows is he’s glad personifications are made of harder stuff than humans as he glances around.

There is hardly anyone left here in his little bar room. Washington disappeared hours ago, citing feeling vaguely ill after about two drinks. Roberto assumes the truth is that Martha just doesn't want to be as hungover as the rest of them in the morning. Her companion/date for this evening, New York, had followed after her. That, Roberto can assume, is due both to his and Jan's general state of mutual antagonism, and also the fact that in general, New York has very little interest for anyone else's company here besides Washington's.

Well, and maybe Oregon, but Beverly's focus has been entirely on her companion for the evening. Maine is dressed in quite a pretty outfit, and Bev is going to make sure Charlotte knows it at every opportunity available. Idaho, both dateless  _ and _ annoying, had yelled "GAY!" at them at one point, to which Beverly had yelled right back at Clark "DAMN RIGHT!" and then returned to flirting with her girlfriend. But even they have disappeared now, giggling and laughing at whatever is amusing them. Probably each other.

Clark, meanwhile, is just heading towards his room. An empty beer bottle left by the door, he’s stumbling a little as he heads upstairs towards the bedrooms.

That leaves Roberto alone.

Or at least,  _ it should have _ .

The second Beverly found out that he didn't have a date for this lovely evening that  _ he _ was inviting them to at his house, she arrives with an extra guest. He’s glad he didn't let slip that Idaho was also coming dateless. That might have been too much to handle. But Bev's intended date for him, well...

He wishes he'd realized she was going to pull a stunt like this before he'd opened the door to find  _ him _ standing behind Bev and Charlotte.

And as he glances back towards the sofa across the room, he groans.

_ He _ is still here. Still awake, a bottle of tequila by his elbow, a glass in his hand, and eyes directed at a point on the floor about eighteen inches in front of his right boot. He seems content to sit there all night long if allowed.

Roberto takes a sip (actually more of a swig) of wine straight from the bottle, because why the hell not? After all, for his  _ date, _ his little sister has brought him, the state of California, the Bear Republic, the Golden State, and all the other names Roberto has ever had, motherfucking Texas. The Lone Star State, Republic, Land of Six Flags, and whatever new names he has surely invented for himself over all these years.

Roberto's worst enemy.

And unfortunately, also the first place winner of the _ people I would have sex with in a heartbeat  _ award since 1943 in Roberto's mind. A fact Oregon knows and abuses. Because, after all, her best friend is the same aforementioned Texan.

Curse Beverly for being so damn close to the tall bastard, dragging him almost everywhere with her. Curse her for having been attached to the Texan's hip since the moment she met him, which forced Roberto to have to interact with Texas if he wanted any time with his sister to the north. Curse Texas for being so damn fond of the girl to the point that during the Civil War, Roberto had found himself on the wrong end of those guns he prized so many times, while the Texan begged him for any scraps of news about Beverly and demanded that Roberto tell Beverly he was alive and well and that he missed her. 

Curse Alfred for forbidding them from any contact, let alone seeing each other, during Reconstruction. Curse the first six years after Reconstruction, where they were hardly ever apart for more than five minutes, save in Roberto’s presence. Curse the first world war, which had seen him and Texas stationed together in the same stretch of trenches. Curse the year 1943, for the leg wound that had killed him, the Texan's face being the last one he saw before his death and the first one he saw upon his resurrection. The words claimed he'd done it all for Beverly's sake, but the tone had told Roberto a hundred other things.

Particularly one thing.

At some point, their contact has stopped being solely because of Beverly, or merely a shared required presence at some event, but because they are both intrigued, attracted, and possibly even in love with each other. Roberto might be projecting a little on that last one, or possibly a lot. But it has gone from Beverly being the reason for some of their worst fights to her being their excuse to be near each other.

Or at least Roberto's excuse to be near Sam, as Sam normally tries to avoid being near him for any length of time.

Samuel Seguín. The name rolls of the tongue like an elixir of joy and anger all at the same time. Certainly it flows more than Roberto Frémont. Roberto knows more about him than he'd like Roberto too.

Like the fact that, pretend and attempt to fake it as he might, he isn't straight. He is gay, gay, gay, and if the hints Beverly has been throwing in his face for years (Beverly isn't subtle about anything when it comes to matchmaking him and Sam) mean anything, it means the Texan is just as into him as he is into the Texan.

He supposes that Sam's presence might indicate that as well. He must have known exactly where Beverly was dragging him this evening. Although, by the same token, Sam finds it hard to resist that pleading face the moment Beverly starts pulling it out, so maybe he hasn't wanted to come.

Roberto takes another sip of wine before deciding to do a dangerous thing. Checking that the room is clear once more, he stands up, bottle of wine in hand, and walks over towards the couch, sitting on the other side, as far away from Sam as he can be on the sofa, and yet closer than being across the room from him. 

To the Texan's credit, his eyes never even twitch away from the spot on the floor he is studiously examining.

There's silence for a while, and then Roberto speaks. 

"So... fancy meeting you here."

Sam snorts, looking up. If there's one thing Roberto can admit to appreciating about the Texan, it's his eyes, which Roberto normally only sees when he's drunk or mad. They're beautifully intoxicating in their color. A bright green, glittering like leaves in sunlight, but not only that. Around his pupils is the most beautiful shade of golden brown, almost amber, which slowly fades into the green.

It's almost enough to make Roberto punchdrunk when he sees them while sober. The only time the sober Texan lets him see them is in anger. A spark of fire in those stunning irises, rage in his voice, and Roberto is glad his mouth's retorts bypass his brain completely, or else Sam would shout an insult and he'd just sit there gazing into those captivating eyes, useless to defend his pride.

So he likes to steal these moments when they're both drunk to gaze into those eyes as much as possible, not that he'll ever admit to it if anyone asks him. To admire the things Sam normally won't let him close enough to admire.

And now Sam's looking at him quietly, and he wonders what he's doing somewhere in his mind. But whatever it is, it's worth it. So he continues as best as he can in his hazy mind, drunk on more than red wine.

"So... the little gremlin drag you here by your hair or pull out the pleading eyes?"

Sam chuckles, a low little rumble that nearly has Roberto humming. "Pleading eyes. Hard to refuse them." He lifts his glass and takes a sip of tequila. "Didn't hurt that she reminded me you have a bar stocked with anything a man could ever want to drink."

Roberto shakes his head. "Perhaps I should stop stocking tequila and whiskey then, to ward off the wayfaring Texan."

Sam is looking at him again, and Roberto reaches up, brushing his hair out of his face slightly. The gel he's put in earlier is suffering from the effects of the passing day and the fact that it didn't have time to set properly before his first guests were appearing. He had slightly miscalculated how much time he'd have before someone would arrive. 

He realizes as he lowers his hand back to his side that he's preening, like a bird of paradise getting ready to serenade in hopes of attracting a mate. Making sure everything is perfect, including himself, before starting his song. But he can't bring himself to care. Let Sam watch him preen. After all, he's the whole reason he's doing it.

Sam takes another sip of his drink, and Roberto decides to do the same, realizing with a groan he didn't bring a glass over when he crossed the room. He sighs, and then puts the bottle to his lips, having to tilt it a considerable amount to get any alcohol.

"You drink that all yourself?" Sam chuckles, and Roberto feels he should retort, but the only words he manages to get out as he lowers the bottle once more is nowhere near what he was hoping he might say.

"I'm not actually sure."

Sam grins. "You're a damn lightweight."

"I am no such thing!" Roberto snaps.

"Well, sometime we'll drink tequila and see who’s a mess first, shall we?"

Roberto sticks out his tongue. "I'll stick with a bottle of Zinfandel, thank you. I enjoy keeping my taste buds."

"Proves you're a damn lightweight. Can't handle anything harder than wine!"

Roberto raises his eyebrows. "That a damn challenge?"

Sam grins again, his whole face lighting up in a way that makes Roberto want to grab him and kiss him. "You want it to be, boy?"

"You change this little game over to rum from tequila, and I'll consider it." Roberto says, still not quite willing to sacrifice his taste buds completely to tequila.

There's a pause, and then Sam nods. "Alright. We'll do it."

Roberto laughs, and Sam shakes his head. "You won't be laughing when you're curled up under the table and I'm still drinking above you."

"You seem to be assuming you'll win." Roberto responds. "We'll see who’s laughing in the end."

A silence falls between them again, and Roberto gazes at Sam once more.

Those freckles speaking of a life under the sun, life out on the open range. His hair falls in long locks, thick and curly. Roberto wants to bury his hands in that hair, run his fingers through it. Feel just how soft he imagines it to be, as Bev claims it is. Those beautiful locks that he just wants to get lost in, along with that face and those wonderful eyes.

He wonders if Sam's lips are soft or chapped. He wonders how good of a kisser he is, what his hands would feel like against his bare skin. He wants the answers to these questions that he will never voice aloud.

Sam's looking back at him, and Roberto doesn't detect the pride normally present in his body language. They're both full of pride, and it doesn't help when they interact. Egos and pride clash, along with Sam's dogged determination to stay in the closet and their inability to say anything polite to each other or lose to the other. But with enough alcohol in them, it seems that nearly all of that fades away.

Except maybe their competitive natures.

Roberto wants to do something stupid, something he hasn't done before as he watches Sam raise his glass once more, and he grabs his wine. He decides to finish it, tilting the bottle almost completely vertical as he drinks the last drops.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Sam watching him, a faint hunger in his eyes, one he recognizes. Roberto takes the last swallow, and sets the bottle down, gazing at the ceiling for a moment before he decides to proceed with the plan his drunk mind has conceived in its state of stupor. It's stupid, and god, he's going to regret it in the morning, especially if it goes badly. But they're alone, with everyone else in bed, and if he doesn't do it now, he doubts he ever will.

He lowers his head and Sam has set down his glass, watching him.

And in moments, he's crossing the distance between them, and angles his head to connect their lips, a hand grabbing right below Sam's collar to pull him closer. He can still taste the tequila on his lips, which are soft and warm, so wonderfully warm. He wants this tempest he's feeling inside to consume both of them, and prays to whatever god he believes in anymore that he hasn't just completely ruined everything he's ever wanted.

He feels Sam move his arms slightly, and fear flashes through him that the Texan is about to shove him off or punch him or run away or a combination of all of the above. If that happens, Roberto will probably just curl up wherever he falls and spend the rest of the night laying there, bathing in self loathing.

But then they stop moving, and suddenly he swears Sam’s lips are pressing into his, and perhaps, maybe more hopeful than he should be, he lets his lips part just a little more.

And oh God, Sam _ is _ kissing him back, because his teeth are very lightly brushing over his lower lip, and he’s changing the angle to a better one. His arms move, a little awkward, until one hand is resting on Roberto’s jaw, and the other somewhere on his back.

Roberto shifts himself closer to Sam, and then, at a good angle, he opens his mouth a little further, an invitation.

And it’s accepted, as Sam deepens the kiss, and Roberto almost wants to pull back and sing. This is what he’s wanted for so many goddamned years, and he’s finally getting parts of it. An intoxicating taste of what he hopes is to come.

But he tries not to get too carried away in his little mental fantasy. He needs to focus on right now. Which means not letting this moment be stationary or stagnate in any way, shape, or form.

So he sets one hand on one of Sam’s shoulders, and the other sides up into his hair.

Jesus, this fucking curly mane of hair the Texan has is soft. He feels his hand tighten into a fist subconsciously, and has to force his hand to unclench, because he doubts accidentally yanking Sam’s head backwards would be appreciated. He feels Sam’s thumb run across his jaw, and his heart picks up even more speed than it already had without him noticing.

And now he’s pressing himself closer, fingers dancing through Sam’s hair and across his scalp, and this is divine. He’s nearly breathless with how much Sam is letting him do. With how much Sam is responding.

At the same time… he wants more. So much more.

He hardly notices he’s moving until he settles his weight completely in Sam’s lap. The Texan is damn fucking tall, so even the slight rise given by sitting on his lap now gives Roberto a slight (albeit barely existent) advantage to changing the angle of the kiss.

And he uses it, almost forcing Sam to chase after him as he moves. With his back now pressed into the arm of the sofa, he can let go of Sam’s shoulder and slide his hand down to Sam’s side. He lets the other stay buried in those curls, holding Sam close.

And then Sam’s hand on his jaw is moving, sliding up through his hair, and then running his fingers through his hair.

There’s the noise of gelled hair being disturbed, a quiet crackling noise as Sam’s fingers run through his carefully styled hair, ruining it within moments. All that preparation and care gone, and after combing through it again with his hand, Roberto feels his hair starting to fall into his face.

Sam’s hands feel so warm, and Roberto feels himself pull back, breaking the kiss and leaning into the touch. His hand slowly works its way out of Sam’s hair and slides down his arm, until Sam brings his hand to meet Roberto’s, and their hands are clasped. 

Sam’s hands are warm, and calloused from the ranch he runs, the texture rough, yet the touch gentle. Roberto opens his eyes, and finds the Texan looking at him with those enchanting eyes. If it’s possible to be bewitched by someone’s eyes, Roberto knows he has been a cursed man for decades.

Sam’s thumb run over his cheek, and he mumbles softly.

“Your eyes are so pretty.”

Roberto is a little surprised. He doesn’t understand how Sam can think his eyes are pretty in comparison to the Texan’s own. They are simply somewhere between a medium or dark brown, hardly worth writing home about in comparison to Sam’s eyes. But he is going to take that compliment, goddamnit. Especially in that deep rumble of the Texan’s voice.

He should return a compliment. Hell, he knows that. Also, why hasn’t he given a compliment first? That would be better than letting Sam get the first words in. That faint simmering of possibly ruined pride makes his next words guaranteed to be more of a retort than a compliment.

“You aren’t as bad of a kisser as I was worried you might be.”

Oh fuck, there goes his mouth, running away without his brain having any input.  _ Fuck fuck fuck… _

Thankfully, his own face must be screaming at himself, because Sam merely laughs as Roberto realizes what he has just said, those beautiful eyes full of mirth as they settle on Roberto’s face, which he knows from the heat in his cheeks, is bright red. 

Roberto is at risk of losing control of this moment, and as much as it might be nice to have the Texan make a first move for once, he feels his pride surge back full force. He has just  _ blushed _ in front of Texas! He has blushed in front of fucking Texas because of something he himself has said! He needs to reclaim the moment, and fast, before Sam tries to make a move of his own.

So he let his body take control, pushing himself back up, but swinging one leg around so he is straddling Sam rather than merely sitting across his lap. Sam almost freezes as Roberto leans closer, gazing directly into those beautiful eyes.

“If you’re smart, you’ll shut up and kiss me again.” He says, only inches from Sam’s face, one hand resting on the sofa behind Sam’s head, the other on the center of Sam’s chest.

Sam comes forward, and then their lips are meeting again. Roberto likes his new position straddling Sam, as he raises his legs to give him the height advantage for once.

Sam seems to have momentarily forgotten his hands, or is unsure what to do with them, but finally one finds itself on the back of his thigh, the other right above his hip, holding him firmly in place. Roberto sets both his hands on Sam’s jaw, and deepens the kiss himself.

God, he wants more. He wants so much more.

One hand slides down Sam’s neck, reaching the buttons on his shirt. Roberto slowly unbuttons them. He’s not surprised Sam has an undershirt on underneath, but he lets his hand continue to slide down, undoing buttons until, having reached the last button, he’s pulling the shirt hem out from where it’s tucked in. The undershirt hem comes out too. Well, that will make it easier to pull both shirts off of him later.

Then he runs his hand back up to rest on the center of the Texan’s chest again, and he might have just imagined it (he hopes he didn’t), but he swears Sam shivers.

But after a few moments, Roberto realizes Sam’s not going to do anything. He’s kissing him back, and his hands are still pressing him close, but they’re not going anywhere from where they are currently set.

Roberto sighs internally, and then breaks the kiss again, leaning away from Sam and removing his hands. Sam’s own hands drop, confused.

Roberto watches Sam’s eyes maintain contact with his own as he reaches for the hem of his own shirt, and then he watches them flick down as he grabs the hem and begins to pull up. They flick back to his eyes in a moment, a faint look of terror mixed in with the excitement in his gaze.

It only takes a few seconds after that for Roberto to slide the shirt off over his head, stretching back somewhat as he pulls one arm from it. He’s showing off again, letting Sam look wherever he wants without consequence. He glances around, sees a corner empty of debris, and tosses his shirt over with ease.

And then he looks back.

Sam’s eyes are about eighty separate emotions, most of them screaming, as they slide up his body and finally settle onto Roberto’s eyes.

And with as many words as he can muster in the moment, he speaks.

“Wow…”

Roberto laughs. Oh god, he wants to laugh so hard he cries. “Wow? Wow?! Oh my god, Sam!”

Sam’s blushing furiously, and Roberto grins. Just a little revenge for earlier never hurts. He swallows the rest of his laughter as he lowers himself slightly, almost eye to eye with the Texan.

“Now… let’s get these damn shirts off of you.”

He brings their lips crashing back together, grabbing the hem of Sam’s undershirt and pulling it up, brushing his fingertips lightly over Sam’s sides until he has to break the kiss again to get the damned things off. Sam pulls his own arms through, and the shirts fall in a pile onto the sofa.

Now Roberto gets a chance to stare. 

The first thing that catches his eyes is the necklace. Sam never takes it off. A bullet that obviously went through something, most likely Sam himself. In fact, Roberto knows it has. Beverly’s quietly whispered this story to him.

_ “It’s the bullet that killed him at the Alamo. When he resurrected, he kept it with him, until he was able to string it and keep it around his neck. It’s been with him ever since.” _

It isn’t such a strange thing for them to keep such soveineers. When death is rarely permanent, you develop strange habits relating to your own. Roberto has a few of his own soveineers, although he doesn’t carry any of them with him regularly. They have a little shelf in his office that they live on.

The next thing are the scars. He lets his hand drop down, brushing over the healed bullet wounds.

Somehow he knows they’re both from Sam’s fight for independence. How many times did Sam die in that war? How many times had he died in the three wars he’d fought before Roberto had met him as a grown man himself, rather than a five year old boy in Esperanza’s house, spying through the door at the tall man named  _ Tejas _ ? Roberto realizes in a moment just how lucky he is. Small and unimportant, he had been saved much of the brutality of so many wars until he was grown.

He wonders if the first time Sam had taken a bullet, had he been like poor Clark? Barely grown, scared out of his mind, and wondering if he truly was going to resurrect? Another thing to be thankful for, that his first resurrection was not one of violence, but of illness.

Tearing his thoughts away from their dealings with their only partial immortality, Roberto lets his eyes take in the tattoos instead.

A lone star over Sam’s heart (of course), a yellow rose on his arm, and then…

Roberto can’t help but laugh at the pair of revolvers tattooed on Sam’s abdomen, directing the eyes towards his still clothed crotch. Sam’s eyes dart elsewhere as he obviously knows exactly where Roberto’s eyes are.

“Listen… we all make mistakes-”

“You especially!” Roberto says, a smirk coming to rest on his face. “How fucking drunk were you?”

“I was completely sober-” Sam stops, realizing that clearly isn’t a great defense as Roberto’s smirk grows. “Shut up.”

“Never.” Roberto states, but he indulges Sam a little bit, crossing the gap between them and capturing his lips in another kiss.

Sam’s hands slide up to sit right over his hips, and Roberto leans closer, one hand on Sam’s shoulder, and the other wandering across his chest, leaving light touches wherever he pleases. Sam’s breathing has changed slightly, and Roberto wonders if his own has as well.

He takes a deep breath and not only have Sam’s eyes intoxicated him, but so has his scent. Notes of freshly polished leather, sage, and barbeque. A slightly different scent is mixed in there as well.

Gunpowder. Not surprising, given Sam’s long history of wars and his people’s love of firearms, let alone his own collection. Altogether, a wonderfully intoxicating scent, dragging Roberto down deeper into the spell Sam has cast over him.

Sam’s own hands start to roam, one sliding up Roberto’s back, and then finally coming back down and settling on the small of his back while the other-

Roberto would not say that he squeaks, but it definitely isn’t a dignified noise as Sam’s hand gropes his ass. He yanks back, and Sam smirks slightly at him.

_ Turnabout’s fair play, huh Seguín? _ He thinks, giving Sam a sharp look, but not protesting any more before reconnecting their lips. But he decides to wander slightly more himself.

One hand drops down into Sam’s lap and Roberto moves his hand towards Sam’s belt, which just wouldn’t be the Texan’s belt if it wasn’t resplendent with an oversized belt buckle.

He is starting to fumble with the buckle when suddenly Sam freezes, a deer in headlights. Roberto instantly knows he’s crossed a line, although he’s not sure what line it is.

Sam pulls back. “Hands off the buckle.”

Roberto withdraws in a moment, and Sam’s eyes suddenly seemed clearer. He isn’t sober yet, but he’s looking more tense, like he’s slowly realizing this is a bad situation.

“Sorry.” Roberto murmurs.

Sam doesn’t say anything, but from the way his hands drop to his sides, Roberto knows.

The fun of the night is done.

He pulls away, slowly sliding his legs to the floor, a little wobbly after everything that has happened today and especially in the last half hour or so. He takes a step back, finds his footing, and turns to leave.

But then Sam’s hand grabs his hand, forcing him to stop and turn.

“We’ll do it when we’re sober. We’ll go that far, and further. I promise.”

Roberto freezes himself, and then responds, trying to sound like he’s laughing, even though he isn’t. “Huh. You must be drunker than I thought, since you won’t even look at me when you’re sober.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, and Roberto sighs.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sam. Come on, I’ll show you where to crash.”

He scoops up his shirt as he walks towards the door, and after a few moments, he hears Sam stand up to follow after him.

He shows him one of the bedrooms (god, he was glad he made up an extra one just in case), and then heads off to his own room.

He takes off his clothes and then curls up under the covers, burying his face in his pillow.

Giddiness and excitement wearing off, he feels like shit. He takes a deep breath and then, making sure his face is firmly in the pillow, gives a good long scream.

That over with, he decides to sort out the rest of his feelings in the morning, and allows a drunken sleep to take him.

***

His alarm goes off at 6 AM, like it always does on the weekends. Yes, even the ones where he’s planned to stay up late and party. The only time he doesn’t set his alarms is when he’s out of town or puking sick.

So up he sits, his head yelling and throbbing. He grabs a shirt and basketball shorts, yanks them on, and heads down towards his kitchen.

He needs a big glass of water, and a lot of advil.

But as he comes around the corner in the living room into his kitchen/dining room, he sees he isn’t alone.

Nearly slumped over at the table is Sam, hand having a death grip on his glass of water. Roberto nearly jumps, not having expected to find him here so early.

Sam doesn't look up as he speaks. “Where’s the fucking tylenol?”

Roberto shakes his head after a brief pause, clearing his thoughts. “Give me a moment.”

“How the fuck do you get up this early when you’re hungover?” Sam mutters.

“Practice.” Roberto spits back. He’s bitter as he remembers last night’s promise. He knows it won’t ever come true. So he’s steeling himself for both the inevitable mention of it or lack thereof, and the silence that will follow after it either way. He pulls down the Tylenol and Advil, setting them on the table for everyone who needs it. “Besides, a host feeds his guests, even if his head hates him for it.”

“I thought you got up at five AM.” Sam murmurs.

“Weekdays.” Roberto responds, opening the advil and taking three, heading towards the cupboard where he keeps his water glasses. “Weekends, I give myself an extra hour of sleep.”

“How considerate to yourself.” Sam says, sarcasm obvious in his tone. Roberto considers flipping him off, but decides then he would drop his advil, and what’s the point in that? He instead elects to ignore Sam, and instead starts the sink running, getting a glass and then filling it.

Advil swallowed, he heads deeper into the kitchen, opening the door to the pantry and heading in.

But when he steps back out with a bag of potatoes, Sam is almost right there, and Roberto glares, anger starting to fill him.

“Spit it out, Seguín. I don’t have time for this.” He growls, setting the bag of potatoes on the counter behind him. Sam is glaring at him. He tries not to think about how those eyes glittered with mirth last night rather than the anger and annoyance now filling them.

Sam gives him another sharp look before speaking. “Don’t insult me.”

“What have I fucking said?” Roberto growls.

Sam looks him right in the eyes as he speaks. “I keep my damn promises.”

Roberto is about to retort when suddenly Sam’s lips are on his, and his back almost slams into the counter behind him as he stumbles backwards in shock, Sam following after. Sam’s clearly sober now, although hardly awake. But Roberto realizes what this is about in a moment as Sam’s hands fly up to his jaw to try and keep him here.

_ “We’ll do it when we’re sober. We’ll go that far, and further. I promise.” _

Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sam! He shoves him backwards, and Sam hardly budges, obviously expecting resistance. But he stops kissing him so he can talk.

“You are the most goddamned stubborn fucking bastard I have ever fucking met.” Roberto hisses. “Get off of me.”

“Not unless you tell me you  _ don’t _ want to have sex with me at some point in the near future. Preferably after breakfast.” Sam hisses right back at him.

Roberto stops. Holy shit, he could not of heard that right…

Sam Seguín, sober and conscious, is making an advance.

This is a really fucking weird miracle.

“Wait… are you offering- are you actually-”

“Yes or no.” Sam says, cutting him off. “Do you want to have sex with me or not?”

Roberto pauses, taking a moment to swallow the prideful part of himself that doesn’t want to admit that if the Texan had said right now, he would have had sex with him  _ right now _ . “I swear to God, if you get cold feet on me, Texas, I will hunt you down and shoot you. Yes. I fucking want to have sex with you.”

Sam almost instantly relaxes, a sigh of relief running through his whole body, and Roberto swears he hears him mutter  _ thank god _ in Spanish under his breath.

“You idiot.” Roberto mutters, and then grabs the collar of Sam’s t-shirt, dragging him down to kiss him again. When he finally let Sam pull back, he glares. “Learn how to ask those questions like a normal person.”

Sam looks like he’s about to ask how the hell anyone can ask that question normally when they hear footsteps coming towards them.

They cannot have physically flown apart any faster, Roberto returning his attention to the bag of potatoes while Sam is now standing somewhere near the sink as if by a miracle.

New York walks in, sending a brief glance at Texas. “The time difference wake you up as well?”

“My head, actually.” Sam mutters. Jan shrugs before turning his attention to Roberto.

“When will food be ready? It’s already nine in the morning at home.”

“In an hour. Go back and stay in bed with Martha.”

“She kicked me out for reading. The lamp was making it hard for her to sleep.” Jan responds, and then glances at the bag of potatoes. “What are you making?”

“Hashbrowns. From scratch. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen.” Roberto mutters.

“I’m hungry! Also, why is Sam allowed in your kitchen, but not me?”

“He is being my extended arms. There’s a bowl of fruit on the table, grab yourself something and a glass of water.”

Jan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t want to spend any time closer to Roberto than he has too. “Fine.”

As soon as he’s gone, they both breathe out a sigh of relief, and then Roberto turns.

“Alright, let’s not tell lies. Get me the big bowl out of that cupboard, will you?”

Sam sighs, and does as asked, and Roberto begins assembling breakfast.

***

Beverly’s eyes are darting between them the whole time during breakfast, and Roberto tries to act normal as he sits across from her. She, of course, has positioned herself on one side of the Texan. Charlotte is next to her and Clark next to Charlotte, and then on Sam’s other side is Jan and then Martha.

Breakfast is quiet for the most part, since save for Jan and Martha, who didn’t drink as much and went to bed earlier, they are all hungover. Clark manages a thank you since Roberto left the pills out, and Charlotte manages a compliment for the food.

After a few more hours of sobering up, time comes for everyone to head off. They are either heading home or spending a few more days in his state as a brief little vacation, but no one had decided to take up his offer of hospitality for more than the night of the party.

Some Roberto is glad about as Sam attempts to fake his way out of heading home.

Roberto had watched him sneakily cancel his ticket home earlier, and now he’s muttering into his phone, acting as though he’s on the phone with the airline. Rob suspects the phone is either off or Sam is leaving himself a very long message.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” He finally growls, and Roberto has to admit, he isn’t a half bad actor. The problem is the only person they aren’t fooling.

Beverly is almost smirking as she glances between the two of them.

Finally, Sam pretends to hang up and growls. “They overbooked the plane. Since I was a last minute ticket, they’ve moved me onto the next flight. Doesn’t leave until tonight.”

Martha nods sympathetically. She and Jan are waiting for their taxi, which Beverly and Charlotte are also taking. “Best call your farmsitter and warn them then.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I’ll do that in a bit, once I don’t want to strangle anyone I talk to over the phone.”

Roberto is glad Clark is already headed off towards his flight home as Beverly slips over, swinging an arm around him and whispering into his ear.

“Hey, a pre-emptive congrats for getting laid tonight. Tell me how it goes.”

“If I tell you anything, it will be ‘fuck off’.” Roberto hisses quietly, and Beverly laughs, catching Sam’s attention as well as everyone else’s.

“Alright, Cali boy, you’ve made your point.” She says, and then hugs him, but she isn’t done yet.

“If he gets cold feet, you are to tell me, because then I have to yell at him.” She whispers in his ear once more.

“Oh joy. Why do I tell you anything ever again?” He whispers back in annoyance, and she giggles.

“Because you love me. Now go and get some.”

As she steps back and heads over to hug Sam, she’s talking about what a  _ shame _ it is he will have to spend the day here, and Roberto shakes his head.

Beverly is going to be the death of both of them.

***

After everyone has left, Sam calls the person taking care of his ranch and house and his dogs plus all the other animals. He says something has come up, and he’s spending at least another night, possibly two. After details are worked out, he hangs up with a sigh.

And Roberto, sitting on the sofa, sighs. “Well…”

Sam doesn’t meet his eyes, and then Roberto takes a deep breath before standing up.

“I think we’d best talk before we try anything. Come on, follow me.”

Sam cautiously follows him to the master bedroom, and Roberto gestures to the chair where he normally sits to read or put on his shoes, setting himself on the bed. But Sam crosses the room and sits himself next to him on the bed.

Roberto takes a deep breath. He’s about to say something incredibly risky and stupid, and every pride filled alarm in his head is screaming in terror. But he continues anyway, because if he doesn’t say it after the events of the last twenty four hours, he never will.

“I think we can both say last night was a bit of a fuck up. I took things too far, but… goddamnit, I fucking hate that I do, but I like you, hell, maybe even fucking love you, at least in the future. And if you don’t feel the same way, I want to know right now, because I have wanted to kiss you every day since at least part way through 1943, and so a one night stand isn’t going to fix that!”

There’s quiet, and Sam is staring, once more, at some point about eighteen inches in front of his right boot. He takes a deep breath before giving his own response.

“I’m going to say right now that I’m bad at this, but… it was only too far last night because we were both drunk. That isn’t something that should be done, especially the first time with someone, while drunk. And well… given that I probably would have slept with you in 1918, uh… I guess I understand the sentiment about this being more than a one night stand.”

There’s a pause, and then Roberto manages a response.

“Well, uh… be glad you didn’t try before 1943… because uh, then fessing up to you now would be even more, uh… awkward then… because I would not have gone for it.” Roberto feels his eyes fall, and suddenly he also finds a very interesting spot on the floor.

“Yeah, I… I figured.” Sam responds, and they sit there, feeling more like awkward teens in some movie than semi immortal beings that are literally more than two centuries old.

“Uh…” Sam finally starts. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

Roberto doesn’t know how he avoids giving himself whiplash as his head snaps up. Sam, somehow, is still staring at that spot on the floor. 

He also doesn’t know how his next sentence comes out with his normal voice rather than jumping up two octaves, but he manages. “Uh… yes. Please do.”

“I just made this way more awkward than it should’ve been.” Sam says, and then their eyes meet as Sam leans forward.

He stops a moment as his hand cradles Roberto’s jaw, and then they both lean forward, crossing the distance.

Roberto is glad this time, as he slides into Sam’s lap to seek a better angle, there’s no resistance, no sudden start to run away, or a sudden change of heart. Sam awkwardly starts to move his hands to some place, and Roberto grabs his arms, moving them for him. One wraps around his back and holding onto his other arm so he doesn’t take a tumble off of his own bed, and the other he brings up to his face.

They’re kissing, sober save for their influence on each other. Roberto pulls himself close, soaking in the warmth of the Texan, and realizing that this was not only happening, but it isn’t a dream. Sam wants this as much as he does, if not more, and he wants it to be more than one night.

Roberto pulls back, breaking the kiss, and looking at Sam, only pausing a moment before asking what his mouth, rather than his brain, decides is the most important thing to ask in the moment.

“So Sam… is  _ everything _ bigger in Texas?”

Well, that wasn’t his exact plan, but the Texan turns a bright shade of crimson, and Roberto can’t exactly say he’s sorry for saying it. He’ll get his licks in where he can.

Sam finally grabs the front of his shirt. “You’d better shut it and kiss me.”

Roberto lets a shit eating grin cross his face. “So is that a yes or-?”

And then Sam’s lips are on his, shutting him up, and he laughs internally, dragging Sam backwards onto the bed. That is all that needed to be said in this moment. Inside, he’s just trying to take everything in.

And god, he’s not planning on losing a single moment of this.


	2. Sam/Texas

Sam should have refused the second Beverly even suggested it. He should have looked anywhere but those pleading brown eyes and simply told her no, marching off and leaving her little scoundrel’s plan where it belonged.

But he had looked her in the eyes like he always did. He had looked her in the eyes and seen them begging him to go along with this plan. A plan he had no idea why he had even remotely begun to agree to. This was a stupid idea!

And yet, here he is, halfway across the country from home, missing his dogs and the whole ranch. He wishes Bowie was here, curled up next to him. That might soothe his nerves a little more.

At least when they arrived, it would have.

Beverly, of course, hadn’t told their host about her plan. He never would have allowed it, and probably would have met the Texan at the door with a baseball bat if he’d known about it ahead of time. Sam could almost sense the surprised and annoyed look he had been given him and Beverly, although he hadn’t seen it himself.

He’d been too busy looking literally anywhere else, avoiding those eyes or even looking at that face as much as humanly possible.

But now here he was, in this fucking maze of mansion, sitting in the “bar room” (why did anyone in their right mind need a bar in their house?), and sipping on a glass of tequila. The bottle was on the little table next to the sofa he’s set himself on, an easy reach for topping off the glass, which he has been doing all evening. He is going to regret this in the morning, but mainly he is regretting it now.

Beverly has brought him here and promptly turned her attention mostly elsewhere after dinner. He doesn’t totally blame her. Her date for the evening, Charlotte, is absolutely stunning to the enamored Oregonian. And Beverly is going to make sure the Mainer knew it. 

Clark seems to foolishly think shouting “GAY!” at the top of his lungs in their general direction will put a stop to it, but the Idahoan has clearly never met his own sister, who just shouts back “DAMN RIGHT!” and promptly returns to being very gay with her compliments of Charlotte.

Sam supposes he could have sought out Clark for conversation, or Martha. Beverly’s younger sister to the north is quite tolerable, almost like her sister, but quieter, save for when she needs to take command of a room. But the Washingtonian disappeared early in the night, citing illness, and her date Jan followed close behind.

Well… New York heading off after her has probably been for the best. He and their host have a history of petty and not so petty disagreements. 

When Beverly and Charlotte had headed off, that left their host, Clark, and himself still drinking, and after finishing one last beer, Clark announces he’s also heading to bed, and disappears.

Leaving Sam alone with the person he least wants to be alone with.

And within a few moments, he feels his eyes fall on him.

He keeps his gaze firmly locked on one spot on the floor, trying to decide if he needs to run while he still can, because staring at him from across the room is literally the worst state Oregon could have paired him with.

_ California. _

Unfortunately, Beverly has paired Sam with him because she knows that for close to a century now, Sam has wanted to sleep with the goddamned wonder boy of the west. Damn himself for being so goddamned stubborn. Damn California for having pride and ego aplenty to fill his whole goddamned state. And damn California, damn him especially, for unknowingly making the Texan fall head over heels with him.

When he’d first met Roberto, he had been a mere sliver of a boy, hiding in Baja California’s shadow during Mexican Independence. Sam had hardly remembered the small boy and girl who hid in corners, too young to fight, try and want to as they might. But a few decades later, Sam now proudly bearing the name State, Alta California was no more. 

California Territory had grown from a boy of five to a young man of sixteen, angry and ready to take out his anger on the man he blamed for the loss of his sister Baja to Mexico. Texas.

What had stopped them then was another sister, one they both adored. Small Beverly. She loved them both. Roberto was the one she spent the most time with, but Sam, well…

He was, and remains, her favorite. Not even seventeen years of brutal separation and no contact between them during the Civil War and Reconstruction had stopped that. It had lead to one of the worst fights ever between the pair, when Beverly and Sam had reunited and Roberto had not trusted Sam as far as he could spit him with his baby sister. In fact, despite finding him attractive (and damn, he was), Sam had not wanted to sleep with him then.

It had been World War One that had changed his mind. Clark had been stationed with them, and California had a begrudging fondness for the boy, from raising him during the Civil War and a bit beyond, until Beverly and Martha had come into their own.

Watching Roberto with his younger brother, so careful and loving in his own way, had slowly made him grow fond of the Californian, and well, from there…

He’d been cursed to start falling for him, and falling hard.

Sam is glad he can just hide behind his hair and his cowboy hat most of the time. Looking Roberto in the eyes makes him feel weak in the knees. The only time he can even make eye contact is when they’re fighting, or when he is, well… drunk.

It bothers him, every time he sees Roberto laughing or flirting with anyone. Roberto is pansexual as hell, and will flirt with anyone who’ll let him. Hell, if Roberto wants, he could probably have his pick of any state or province on the continent, let alone half the countries he could probably seduce if he really wants too. So why on earth would he pick Sam when he could have almost anyone on the planet?

But that doesn’t mean Sam doesn’t want to obliterate anyone who so much as gets a smile from Roberto (besides those he knows Roberto merely considered family). Oh, he only wants that smile to only be directed at him. It’s like sunshine in a bottle, a drink so delicious on the tongue that he isn’t going to share a single sip. 

He wants Roberto to be his, and his alone.

Unfortunately, their pride makes that nearly impossible.

He hardly notices Roberto is crossing the room until he thuds down onto the sofa next to him. Well, hardly next too. Sam is keenly aware of the gap between them.

It would be so easy to cross that gap, so easy to connect their lips and taste the red wine on his lips. And god, Sam wants too.

But something warns him that that would be a good way to get a black eye.

“So… fancy meeting you here.”

Sam hears himself snort, looking up. Roberto’s looking right at him, and oh, how he wants to cross that gap between them. Those brown eyes draw him in. Warm and inviting, promising a hidden richness deep within. Like the soil of the earth, but glittering with a brightness that outshines the sun reflecting on the sea.

Roberto’s eyes guide the viewer to the rest of a stunning face. Black hair, swept across his forehead and styled with a ridiculous amount of product, Sam’s sure, but still stunningly done. He sometimes wonders how soft Roberto’s hair is. He seems to know how to counterbalance the effects of the gel, because every time Sam’s seen him without his hair styled, it shines with health and looks like it would be so soft to touch. Well kept facial hair, a dark five o’clock shadow Roberto always manages to pull off perfectly, and skin more than just kissed by the sun.

It’s the face of an angel. The most infuriating angel Sam’s ever met, but it's the only explanation, because Roberto’s face must have been created by God himself. He can’t pull his gaze away from Roberto in this moment. He just has to take it in as best he can for as long as the Californian will let him.

Then Roberto’s speaking again.

“So… the little gremlin drag you here by your hair or pull out the pleading eyes?”

Sam manages a chuckle at that. "Pleading eyes. Hard to refuse them." He picks up his glass that he’s set down by the bottle of tequila. "Didn't hurt that she reminded me you have a bar stocked with anything a man could ever want to drink."

"Perhaps I should stop stocking tequila and whiskey then, to ward off the wayfaring Texan."

Sam watches him as he reaches up, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. Oh, he wants to cross this gap and kiss him and feel his hair and hold him and oh, so much more, but how can he? He’d out himself in a moment to Roberto if he did that.

Although Roberto might already know he’s gay. Wouldn’t surprise him in any way if Beverly has accidentally outed him to the Californian, although if she has, Roberto’s kept quiet and never made a comment to him about it, even in private.

He sips at his tequila again, and Roberto grabs his bottle of red wine, and after a moment of realization that he doesn’t have a glass, he just puts it straight to his lips. Sam’s amused by how little wine there is, considering the tilt Roberto has to give the bottle before getting any alcohol.

“You drink that all yourself?” He asks with amusement.

Roberto glances at the bottle, a little confused. “I’m not actually sure.”

Sam’s close to laughing as he responds. "You're a damn lightweight."

"I am no such thing!" Roberto retorts, and Sam enjoys that spark of fire in his voice.

"Well, sometime we'll drink tequila and see who’s a mess first, shall we?" Sam teases him, knowing he’ll win that competition by a long shot.

Roberto sticks out his tongue at him, much to his growing amusement. "I'll stick with a bottle of Zinfandel, thank you. I enjoy keeping my taste buds."

Sam knows zinfandel is about the most alcoholic wine Roberto can produce in his state, but he can’t help yet another jab. "Proves you're a damn lightweight. Can't handle anything harder than wine!"

“That a damn challenge?”

Sam feels his smile growing. Even though being in his presence is both infuriating and painful, he’ll never pass up an opportunity to beat the Californian in something. “You want it to be, boy?”

"You change this little game over to rum from tequila, and I'll consider it." Roberto responds, and Sam pauses and considers it for a moment before nodding.

“Alright. We’ll do it.”

Roberto laughs as though he’s already won, and Sam can’t help but shake his head. "You won't be laughing when you're curled up under the table and I'm still drinking above you."

"You seem to be assuming you'll win." Roberto responds with a grin of his own. "We'll see who’s laughing in the end."

Sam shakes his head again, and then finds himself looking at Roberto. He seems so at ease in this moment, graceful in his body. So soft, yet fierce. Sam catches himself starting to lean, bare millimeters and unnoticeable to anyone save him, and stops himself in a moment. Much as he wants too, he can’t cross that gap. Not right now, not in this moment.

He wonders how Roberto’s facial hair would feel against his skin, how soft his lips and skin must be. How warm he is, how it would feel to hold him in his arms and kiss him everywhere he can. To wake up next to him in the morning, and kiss him on the forehead when he begins to wake up, just gazing into those beautiful brown eyes hidden behind those thick dark eyelashes.

Roberto seems to relax even a little bit more, and it’s almost like neither of them can stop drinking the other in. Their egos and pride be damned in this moment, Sam can almost think that Roberto wants him as much as Sam wants him. 

He lifts his glass with the intent to drain it, and Roberto turns away slightly, reaching for his bottle of wine. Sam sets his glass down on the table as Roberto puts the bottle to his lips and tilts his head up, getting every last drop he can.

Sam watches him swallowing, the way his Adam’s apple moves, the way he pulls the bottle away from his lips when he finishes, a wayward red drop rolling down towards his jaw as he gazes upwards towards the ceiling, contemplative. He sets the now empty bottle down, and then lowers his head, meeting Sam’s gaze once more.

There’s a mere moment’s pause, and Sam sees something flash across Roberto’s eyes. Something decided.

And then Roberto is right there, startling him. He’s angled his head to connect their lips, a hand in Sam’s shirt to drag him closer. And Roberto,  _ Roberto Frémont _ , the state of  _ California _ , is kissing him. Oh God, Roberto is kissing him, and  _ oh god oh god this cannot be happening. _

Some part of his brain is yelling at him, that he needs to stop this. He’s drunk. This can’t continue. He starts to move his arms to try and separate them, but the moment is gone as quick as it comes. He lets them fall back into the position they were already in, and decides to see how far his luck will go.

So he starts kissing Roberto back. And suddenly, Roberto’s lips soften slightly. More at ease, less tense.

So he risks it. He lets his teeth run over Roberto’s lower lip, and changes the angle, moving his hands tentatively, one resting on Roberto’s back, and the other on his jaw.

Roberto’s facial hair is scratchy against his face, but it’s not unpleasant. Sam knows he’s cursed when he realizes he wants  _ more _ .

And Roberto gives it to him, shifting closer and slightly opening his mouth, and Sam seizes the opportunity, deepening the kiss, and pulling Roberto closer.

He can taste the red wine Roberto has just finished, and  _ oh god _ he is actually doing this. He is kissing California, and Roberto’s returning the kiss, and Sam realizes with the little shock he always has in this sort of scenario that he could get used to this. Kissing Roberto and feeling his stubble against his face. Feeling his weight leaning against him. Oh god, he wants this, he’s wanted it for years. God, he wants this all.

Roberto is moving, one of his hands now tightening its grip on Sam’s shoulder, and the other is in his hair. Sam feels him curl his hand into a fist, and then relax back, fingers stretching out and then stroking through his hair and Sam can’t believe how good this feels. He runs his thumb over Roberto’s jaw.

And Roberto is even closer now. Sam is struggling to believe this is happening, despite all his senses screaming that it is. But even if it only turns out to be a dream, he’ll be so glad for it. It’s one of the best dreams he’s ever had.

And then  _ oh god _ , Roberto is sliding into his lap, raising him up a little so that they’re more of a height, and  _ oh god, oh god, Roberto is leaning back towards the arm of the sofa, pulling Sam with him _ .

Sam is helpless but to follow after the Californian, allowing him to change the angle, because if they pull apart, he’s sure Roberto will slap him and tell him he’s drunk and then this will have to end. He feels Roberto’s grip on his shoulder released as the Californian presses his back to the arm of the sofa, and it slides down to his side, pulling Sam as close as he can and holding him there.

Sam realizes that Roberto really isn’t trying to escape this after everything they’ve already done, and he’s inviting Sam to do more.

Sam slides his hand on Roberto’s jaw upwards, fingertips brushing against skin until finally they reach Roberto’s hair. 

The product in Roberto’s hair is stiff, but the hair underneath soft, and Sam spreads out his fingers, pulling them upwards to comb the product out of Roberto’s hair. He can feel softer strands beneath, and he combs his fingers through Roberto’s hair again, which starts to fall into his face. But he continues to run his hands through his hair.

Roberto pulls back, breaking the kiss, but his eyes are still closed even as Sam opens his in concern. Instead, Sam finds that he’s leaning into Sam’s hand and touch. Roberto’s own hand works its way out out of his hair, and starts down his arm. Sam takes his hand off of Roberto’s back, and he catches Roberto’s hand in a moment.

Roberto’s hands are soft, save for calloused fingertips, likely from playing that guitar he loves so much, and warm. He opens his eyes, and their gaze is soft with affection, something Sam has never thought he’d see directed towards him by these beautiful eyes. They’re glimmering in the low light, pulling slightly lighter shades of brown to the surface from under that darker brown. Eyes he could be lost in for days.

He runs his thumb over Roberto’s cheek, mumbling out his thoughts.

“Your eyes are so pretty.”

Roberto seems surprised for a moment, and Sam doesn’t understand quite how. Hell, Roberto must have been told his eyes were absolutely stunning before. After all, if there was anything every state knew California had, it was a dozen or more flings with Hollywood stars and starlets. Hell, if it wasn’t for a risk of being exposed as immortal, he probably would have had long term relationships, possibly even marriages with a few of them.

So why was he now looking confused? 

However, something slightly more familiar was now developing in Roberto’s eyes, a competitive need. He could almost guess before it happened that Roberto’s next words were going to be a disaster of a sentence.

And they were.

“You aren’t as bad of a kisser as I was worried you might be.”

And in a second, Roberto goes from normal to mortified and a brilliant shade of crimson. Sam can’t help but laugh. California always has to make everything a competition, even compliments in between making out. It’s just their nature to do this to each other, almost a familiar kind of banter, and by god, Sam finds it absolutely hilarious in this moment. Roberto is now sitting in his lap, absolutely beautiful even with the crimson shade to his face, and by god, Sam just wants to kiss him again.

But before he can move, Roberto is, and for a moment, he fears it’s over, until suddenly he realizes that Roberto is now straddling him. He freezes in shock. 

_ Oh god oh god. This can not be happening. This is moving beyond kissing. _

Roberto leans in close, looking him directly in the eyes. One hand moves to the sofa right by his head, the other coming to rest on the center of his chest.

“If you’re smart, you’ll shut up and kiss me again.”

Sam leans forward (somehow despite his brain being unable to form a coherent thought) and captures Roberto’s lips. Roberto pushes himself up onto his knees, his body higher than Sam’s, controlling the angle of the kiss.

Sam needs to set his hands somewhere, and for a moment, he sits, unsure of what to do. But finally, he sets one hand on the back of one of Roberto’s thighs, and the other over his hip, tightening his grip slightly. 

And then Roberto’s hands are on his jaw, and he’s deepening the kiss, and  _ oh god oh god oh god yes _ .

One of Roberto’s hands slides down his neck, fingertips brushing lightly over his skin, and  _ oh god _ , Roberto is unbuttoning his shirt, hand sliding down, and Sam can almost feel his touch through his undershirt. When Roberto reaches the last button, Sam feels him pulling the shirt hem out, and  _ oh god oh god oh god _ .

Roberto’s hand runs back up his chest, and even though it’s through his undershirt, Sam shudders and shivers at the touch.

So, Sam keeps kissing him, pulling him closer again and enjoying the contact, but as he’s about to move one of his hands, Roberto suddenly pulls back, his hands falling away from Sam. Sam drops his hands in confusion as Roberto leans back.

Sam is trying to figure out what Roberto’s doing as he gazes at at his face, until he notices Roberto’s hands have dropped to his side and are moving upwards. His eyes flick down and he realizes that Roberto is pulling off his shirt. His eyes shoot back up towards Roberto, who grins before making a move that is meant to be stunning.

His shirt is up to his shoulder in seconds, and then over his head. He pulls his arms out, stretching as he does, and then tosses his shirt into a corner before looking back at Sam.

And in that moment, Sam takes him in.

Roberto is fucking beautiful under that shirt. Toned and muscled, his skin a warm shade of brown from days surfing and sunbathing on his famous beaches. Sam sees part of a tattoo on one of his arms, wrapping around to his back, but besides a few small scars, there is nothing to distract from his beauty. In fact, they add to it.

_ Oh god, he’s fucking beautiful. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I never thought he would let me see this. Oh god, oh my god, oh my fucking god, he’s so beautiful and I want to touch every inch of him. I shouldn’t, but oh god oh holy fucking shit I need to be able to take this in. He’s so goddamned beautiful. _

“Wow…” Is what slips past his lips, and Roberto bursts out into a laughter.

“Wow? Wow?! Oh my god, Sam!”

Sam turns red himself, and Roberto is grinning as he brings himself down slightly, bringing them eye to eye with a smile.

“Now… let’s get these damn shirts off of you.”

And then Roberto brings their lips back together, and Sam feels him pulling up his undershirt, those fingertips running up his side so lightly until he has to stop and break the kiss to get the shirts off. Sam does it for him, dropping his shirts in a pile next to them on the sofa.

Now Roberto leans back again, taking him in.

Sam watches his eyes move. They settle on the bullet he never takes off, hanging from his neck. The Alamo. Roberto’s eyes soften slightly. He has either guessed or knows the story.

Then his eyes drop to the scars. His hand drops to them, brushing lightly over the long healed wounds. Sam thinks their names like a prayer. 

_ The Alamo. Goliad. _

Roberto’s eyes are contemplative and reflective as they move away from the scars, instead looking at his tattoos. Sam knows he sees the yellow rose, and the Lone Star. His back hides the outline of his land on one of his shoulder blades. 

But as Roberto’s eyes drop, he suddenly lets loose a delighted laugh.

_ Oh. Those tattoos _ .

A pair of revolvers direct the eyes down Sam’s hips to beyond the waistband of his pants. He looks over at a lovely spot on the wall as he attempts to defend himself.

“Listen… we all make mistakes-”

“You especially!” Roberto says, and Sam can hear the smirk in his voice. “How fucking drunk were you?”

“I was completely sober-” Sam groans as he realizes how that just sounded. “Shut up.”

“Never.” Roberto says as their eyes meet again, but then he’s capturing Sam’s lips in another kiss, and Sam guesses he will just have to wait for the moment of vengeance to present itself.

Sam raises his hands, setting them right over Roberto’s hips, and Roberto comes closer, one hand on his shoulder, the other moving across his chest. Sam has to try and take deeper breaths as Roberto does this. Inside, he can hardly hear anything besides his own voice screaming, and he isn’t sure if it’s in Spanish or English anymore.

Sam inhales deeply as Roberto’s hand nearly brushes over his nipple, trying to remain calm, and he can smell the Californian.

The first thing he can smell is the citrus on his skin, oranges to be exact. Underneath that is a sweeter smell, like almond extract almost, yet lighter, and then notes of honey. Sam can almost hear the bees buzzing within the countless orchards Roberto has.

And finally, the faint smell of sea spray, the mist of the Pacific Ocean upon his shores. His scent is as beautiful as he is, and Sam wonders again who has blessed him with being in the presence of a being such as Roberto.

But as they deepen their kiss again, Sam senses an opportunity for a little vengeance, and besides… he’s curious. After so long gazing at Roberto and his whole beautiful body, he has to admit to being curious.

He makes a smaller move first, one hand sliding up between his shoulder blades, and then back down to rest on the small of the Californian’s back. And then he lowers his other hand down to Roberto’s ass and squeezes slightly.

Roberto  _ fucking squeaks _ as he yanks back, obviously not expecting the touch there. Sam smirks up at him. After all this time, he has gotten to touch the ass the simply will not quit.

Roberto gives him a look that says he’ll pay for that, but then he’s kissing him again, and Sam let his hand wander slightly more.

He hardly notices Roberto’s hand moving at first, about to pull him closer again, when he hears a clinking noise.

His eyes fly open, afraid that the bottle of tequila might be about to take a tumble (Roberto won’t take kindly to his sofa being soaked in alcohol), but he realizes that the sound was more metallic in nature.

And then he feels one of Roberto’s knuckles brush across his skin just above the waistband.

He realizes with a start and freezes, stiff as a board. Roberto’s eyes fly open, knowing something is wrong, and Sam pulls back from the kiss.

_ No, no, no, this can’t be our first time. Drunk and in a house full of other people. No, no, I’d rather do nothing at all ever than have this be the way I get into his pants, when we’re both too goddamned inebriated to know up from down. _

“Hands off the buckle.” Is what makes it past his lips.

Roberto’s hands almost fly off, and Sam glances around. The remains of the party, all the alcohol they’ve consumed. No, this isn’t what he wants his first time with Roberto to be. Hell, they don’t have anything they need even before you considered how drunk they are. No, this can’t be the night he finally sleeps with California.

“Sorry.” Roberto murmurs, and Sam sighs internally. This is going to be hard to do, but it has to be done.

He let his hands fall, a clear signal.

For tonight, it’s over.

Roberto understands, pulling back and allowing his legs to slowly reach the floor, bringing himself up to a standing position. He nearly wobbles a few times, but finally seems to find his footing as he takes a small backwards step. And then he turns to leave.

And Sam realizes in a moment that he has to do something to explain himself. God knows Roberto is probably assuming he isn’t okay with sex with him at all! He needs to say something.

So he catches Roberto’s hand, stopping him and forcing him to look at him again.

And Sam utters a promise with the utmost certainty he can in this moment.

“We’ll do it when we’re sober. We’ll go that far, and further. I promise.” Sam squeezes his hand, trying to communicate his seriousness. If California has let him get this far, there has to be something there. Something he hasn’t believed possible before now.

But the tone that escapes Roberto is anything but the friendly banter from earlier. It sounds hurt and wounded.

“Huh. You must be drunker than I thought, since you won’t even look at me when you’re sober.”

An accusation. Sam feels like his heart has been run through. But can he really blame Roberto? What indication has he ever given the man of his interest? He can’t even look at him most of the time, afraid that if he does, Roberto will see the wants and desires in his eyes and reject him.

His silence must say it all, because Roberto sighs.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sam. Come on, I’ll show you where to crash.”

He pulls his hand out of Sam’s grasp and walks to the door, grabbing his shirt, and Sam stands up, grabbing his and following Roberto to the room he’ll spend the night in.

After Roberto leaves, Sam sits on the bed for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He needs to prove to Roberto while sober, somehow, that he wants to be with him.

He dimly remembers Beverly complaining at some point that, even when hungover, Roberto always wakes up at the ringing of his five AM alarm, as if a monk awaking, no matter how tired, at the first bell in the morning. He uses his alarm clock like a religious device.

Sam needs to say something tomorrow morning, before the adrenaline that will carry him through this wears off, and before he loses his nerve. When they’ll be the only people awake, and he can confess in private.

He pulls out his phone, sets his alarm, and crawls into bed, praying his resolve lasts until morning.

***

The alarm wakes him, his painful head yelling at him as he opens his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings.

It takes a few moments to remember where he’s at. But it comes in pieces.  _ Beverly. California. Dinner. Party. Roberto- _

_ Oh god, Roberto… _

Last night comes back in a moment with that thought. Kissing Roberto, Roberto kissing him back. The way the light had glittered in his eyes, the way his hair had felt, the softness of his skin, the scent of citrus on him.

Sam also remembers the promise he made, and Roberto’s words.

Oh, he’s gonna prove him wrong.

He dresses in his change of clothes and starts to make his way downstairs, despite his screaming head. In truth, it isn’t an awful time of day back home, but his hungover head is screaming at him as he walks around this maze of a house, trying to find the goddamned kitchen.

He finds it at 5:30, by his estimates, but it’s empty. Head still throbbing, he gets himself a glass of water, he sits, and he waits.

And waits.

And fucking waits.

He’s about out of patience when he hears footsteps heading towards him.

Roberto comes in, basketball shorts and t-shirt, and unstyled hair. Sam doesn’t look up as he flips on the light and Roberto seems startled to see him when he comes around the corner.

Sam growls the question. “Where’s the fucking tylenol?”

“Give me a moment.”

“How the fuck do you get up this early when you’re hungover?” Sam asks. Hell, if he hits the booze too hard some nights, Bowie almost has to drag him out of bed at seven. Roberto must feel like shit.

Or maybe he did earlier and that’s why he hasn’t appeared until after six AM.

“Practice” He says, voice sharp as he slams a bottle of tylenol and a bottle of advil onto the table for anyone to have access to. “Besides, a host feeds his guests, even if his head hates him for it.”

Sam starts to open the tylenol as he speaks. “I thought you got up at five AM.”

“Weekdays.” Roberto says, taking some advil and heading towards the water glasses. “Weekends, I give myself an extra hour of sleep.”

“How considerate to yourself.” Sam says, and it comes out sarcastic when he really doesn’t mean it too.  _ Goddamnit, Sam, you came here to try and confess, not start a fucking fight. _

Roberto ignores him and heads off into his pantry, Sam guesses, and he follows behind, waiting for him to reemerge.

He does, and Sam doesn’t yet meet his eyes as Roberto glares at him, setting down the potatoes . Sam feels the anger and tension from waiting for him creeping out as Roberto speaks.

“Spit it out, Seguín. I don’t have time for this.”

Sam gives him a brief look, taking a small step towards him, letting that annoyance come out. “Don’t insult me.”

Roberto’s eyes are fiery as he raises his gaze, and  _ oh God _ , Sam wants to kiss him. “What have I fucking said?”

Sam meets his eyes in that moment. “I keep my damn promises.”

And then he’s pinning Roberto against his counter, hands flying up to his jaw to try and keep him from pulling away, and he braces himself for the possibility of getting hit or shoved. This is a go big or go home moment, and good god, he prays he hasn’t just fucked himself over. 

Although he wouldn’t be surprised if he gets slapped, no matter what way this goes.

He feels Roberto’s hands in his chest, shoving him back, and while he doesn’t move, he breaks the kiss, waiting for Roberto to speak.

“You are the most goddamned stubborn fucking bastard I have ever fucking met. Get off of me.” Roberto snarls, and Sam takes a deep breath before responding.

“Not unless you tell me you  _ don’t _ want to have sex with me at some point in the near future. Preferably after breakfast.” He manages to hiss out.

Roberto nearly freezes, staring at him for a moment in absolute confusion before he speaks.

“Wait… are you offering- are you actually-”

“Yes or no.” Sam stops Roberto before he can babble on any further. “Do you want to have sex with me or not?”

Roberto’s eyes are full of fire, yet not at a full force as he manages to respond. “I swear to God, if you get cold feet on me, Texas, I will hunt you down and shoot you. Yes. I fucking want to have sex with you.”

Sam’s whole body nearly slumps with relief. Roberto does want to have sex with him. Maybe from there, he can hope for more. Oh god, he can pray. He murmurs a quick  _ thank god _ , and then Roberto ss speaking.

“You idiot.” And a hand is in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down and kissing him quite passionately for so early in the morning. Finally, he lets go of his shirt, and Sam pulls back slightly to find Roberto glaring at him. “Learn how to ask those questions like a normal person.”

Sam is about to ask what the fuck was a ‘normal person’s’ way of asking that when they both heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

Sam doesn’t quite know how, but he’s at the sink now, halfway across the kitchen, while Roberto is almost entirely focused on the bag of potatoes, selecting the biggest from the bag.

Jan walks in, and he and Sam glance at each other. He’s already dressed and has slicked back his hair for the day. “The time difference wake you up as well?”

“My head, actually.” Sam mutters out, and Jan turns his attention to Roberto.

Sam tunes out most of their conversation. Jan’s hungry due to the time difference and Martha kicked him out of bed to get more sleep, ect, ect. Breakfast will have hashbrowns.

What he does hear is his name when Jan’s still complaining about his hunger.

“I’m hungry! Also, why is Sam allowed in your kitchen, but not me?”

Sam freezes in surprise, glad Jan isn’t looking at him, but in moments, Roberto has a ready made excuse that actually makes sense.

“He is being my extended arms. There’s a bowl of fruit on the table, grab yourself something and a glass of water.”

No one will question that with the Texan being the tallest person in the house. Jan gives Roberto an annoyed “Fine.”, grabs an orange out of the aforementioned bowl, and then disappears.

Sam and Roberto both breathe a sigh of relief as he leaves, and Roberto turns back to look at Sam.

“Alright, let’s not tell lies. Get me the big bowl out of that cupboard, will you?”

Sam sighs, and soon was grabbing nearly everything for Roberto as he began to assemble breakfast for everyone.

***

Beverly is next to him during breakfast, and Sam can feel her eyes going between Roberto and himself, obviously picking up that something has happened between them, and Sam wishes that she didn’t read him like an open book.

The meal is quiet. Jan and Martha quietly conversing, a few compliments of the food. After cleaning up, they all go and sit in the living room until their heads have stopped throbbing and they can get dressed and packed.

Roberto ends up in a chair next to him at one point, and Sam pulls out his phone, pulling up his flight home and cancelling the ticket. When he glances up, the Californian nods before looking back towards the magazine in his hands.

It’s right as Clark (and originally he) had been supposed to be leaving, that he fakes the phone call. A lot of loud shouting at the imaginary human follows, until it’s clear something has gone wrong. He shoos Clark away while he’s  _ on hold _ , reassuring him he can call another cab or shuttle.

Finally, he ‘hangs up’. “They overbooked the plane. Since I was a last minute ticket, they’ve moved me onto the next flight. Doesn’t leave until tonight.”

Martha nods. “Best call your farmsitter and warn them then.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that in a bit, once I don’t want to strangle anyone I talk to over the phone.” Sam says, trying to sound annoyed when in fact he’s nearly floating on a cloud. This is happening, and he still can’t quite believe it.

But that’s when Beverly bursts out into laughter across the room, and Sam turns to see she has an arm wrapped around Roberto, obviously amused by whatever he’s just said.

“Alright, Cali boy, you’ve made your point.” Beverly says, giving him a long hug, and then once she’s done, she comes towards him.

“Sorry, Sammy, it’s such a shame you have to spend the day here with Berto.” She grins, wrapping her arms around him for a hug, and then whispers right into his ear. “You get cold feet on him, I’ll drag you back here by your ears and lock you in his bedroom.”

“Uh… duly noted.” Sam manages to whisper back.

“Good.” She says, grinning as she steps back.

One day, Beverly is going to get him killed.

***

As soon as the taxi for everyone else has departed, Sam calls up his farmsitter. He tells her something has come up and that he’s going to be gone a few more days, and promises to pay her extra for the inconvenience. That finished up, he hangs up and sighs.

He has just finished throwing himself into this completely. Good god, he prays it isn’t about to blow up in his face.

Roberto speaks from the sofa after a sigh of his own. “Well…” Sam doesn’t look up at him, the full impact starting to set in, and Roberto stands up. “I think we’d best talk before we try anything. Come on, follow me.”

Sam follows him from a safe distance to the master bedroom, but making sure to keep him in eyesight at all times (otherwise, he’ll probably get lost again). Roberto sits down on the bed, gesturing towards a chair, but Sam crosses the room, sitting only about two feet from him on the bed, locking his eyes on the floor.

Roberto takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I think we can both say last night was a bit of a fuck up. I took things too far, but… goddamnit, I fucking hate that I do, but I like you, hell, maybe even fucking love you, at least in the future. And if you don’t feel the same way, I want to know right now, because I have wanted to kiss you every day since at least part way through 1943, and so a one night stand isn’t going to fix that!”

Sam tries to take that in as he feels Roberto’s eyes burning into him. He’s bad with words, and he’s never quite had the dramatic flair Roberto does. So taking a deep breath, he responds.

“I’m going to say right now that I’m bad at this, but… it was only too far last night because we were both drunk. That isn’t something that should be done, especially the first time with someone, while drunk. And well… given that I probably would have slept with you in 1918, uh… I guess I understand the sentiment about this being more than a one night stand.”

There’s a pause, and he can tell Roberto, for once, feels as awkward as he does.

“Well, uh… be glad you didn’t try before 1943… because uh, then fessing up to you now would be even more, uh… awkward then… because I would not have gone for it.”

“Yeah, I… I figured.” Sam says, and then glances at Roberto from the side. Even with that awkward look on his face, he’s still stunningly beautiful. 

Sam should make the first move for once, so he speaks.

“Uh… I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

Roberto whirls in shock and surprise with incredible speed, Sam dropping his eyes back to the floor. And then Roberto manages a weak response.

“Uh… yes. Please do.”

“I just made this way more awkward than it should’ve been.” Sam manages before looking up at Roberto, and leaning forward to cross that gap between them. He reaches up a hand, cradling Roberto’s jaw, and then they are both crossing the distance, lips meeting and Roberto quickly sliding into his lap for a better angle. When Sam starts to awkwardly move his hands, Roberto grabs them and positions them, so one was wrapped around him and the other was cradling his face once more.

Sam thinks back on Roberto’s words as they kiss, him leaning closer to the Texan. Roberto wants more, just like he does. This is not going to be a single encounter, but possibly the start of something much, much more. Oh god, Sam prayed it is.

Roberto pulls back, and their eyes meet. He’s so beautiful,  _ goddamnit _ . And Sam  _ wants  _ him. 

And then he’s speaking.

“So Sam… is  _ everything _ bigger in Texas?”

Sam feels his face go red as Roberto almost giggles at him.  _ I swear to God, you are the most annoying human I’ve ever met… oh, but holy fucking hell, I want you. _

So Sam buries his hand in the front of the Californian’s shirt. “You’d better shut it and kiss me.”

Roberto’s smirk is almost too much. No, it  _ is  _ too much. “So is that a yes or-?”

Sam pulls him forward, cutting off his words with another kiss, and he can almost feel Roberto laughing as he pulls Sam backwards so he can be lying on the bed. That is all they need to say.

For this moment, Roberto is his, and his alone.

And that is all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, Sam Seguín (APH Texas) and Charlotte (APH Maine) belong to crikadelic. All other characters belong to me. 
> 
> Thank you, crikadelic, for letting me tell stories with your characters, and proofreading and advising on so many projects of mine. I hope I can continue to give you stories that you enjoy over and over again.


End file.
